


in sickness and in health

by professortennant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, ER AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: ER AU. Phil is a pediatrics resident and Melinda is a surgery resident. But everything changes after a little girl codes on the table, leaving Phil and May to pick up the pieces.





	in sickness and in health

They’re in their first year of residency at SHIELD County Hospital when they choose their specialities. Phil chooses pediatrics (he’s always liked kids and he loves the way the kids shorten his name to Dr.  _Cool)._ Melinda chooses surgery (she’s always enjoyed the careful precision required, the rush of holding a life in her hand).

They’re fast friends, sticking tight to one another during medical school and their assorted rotations. May teases Coulson with a pinch to his arm each time he stutters and blushes when a patient flirts and tells him to keep up when he answers the attending’s question a half-second too late. 

Sometimes when the rest of the night crew knocks off for the night, they stumble into Doc Magoo’s across the street, arm in arm and high on the power of youth and power and thrill of saving lives. Other nights, they trudge into the doors of the bar instead, the weight of their jobs--the weight of the blood on their hands--is too much. On nights like these, the drink turns into drink _s--_ one, two, three, and then they’re huddled in a dark corner, Phil’s mouth dangerously close to Melinda’s. 

“You gonna kiss me, Dr.  _Cool?”_ It’s teasing and her words are a little slurred, but her hands are steady and sure when she reaches for his tie and yanks him closer, sliding her mouth over his. It’s sloppy and tinged with the taste of beer and the cherries from his drink. 

They pull away and grin. Phil’s hands play with the gently curled ends of Melinda’s hair and her fingers twist his tie, keeping him close. Phil sighs and groans, head falling forward to rest on hers. “We  _can’t,”_  he mutters. She twists her head and kisses the side of his head, lips searing against his cheek. 

“I know.”

* * *

 

Everything changes when they collaborate on a case together, a young girl with wide brown eyes and a hand that fits perfectly in Melinda's. A little girl who makes her promise that she won't let her die when they take her to surgery.

Phil watches the bond form, bites his lip to stop himself from pulling Melinda aside and warning her to not get attached. The rate of success is low and he doesn’t want to see Melinda crushed. But he knows her heart is what makes her a good surgeon--a  _phenomenal_ surgeon. While Fury strides around with a grand plan for SHIELD’s surgical future, Melinda keeps the patients in the front of her mind always.

So he stays silent and wishes Melinda and the little girl luck as they scrub in. He’s pediatrics and it’s standard policy to have someone on hand. It means he’s there when it happens.

Phil is there when the little girl crashes, when the monitors blare to life and the crash cart crackles with artificial life. Phil is there when Dr. fury calls time of death and Melinda stumbles out of the OR, back stiff and ripping the surgical mask from her face.

Phil is there, following Melinda out into cold hallway and into the locker room. She's unresponsive and ignores his calls of, "May! May!  _Melinda_!" She just turns the shower on and hops in, shockingly cold and still in scrubs.

He doesn't hesitate, just follows her right in, shields her from the brunt of the spray and rakes his hands through her tangled, wet hair. In turn, she stifles her sobs into his chest, shakes in his arms. He coos at her, shuts his eyes against his own tears, and murmurs, "Let it go. Let the girl go, Mel."

* * *

 

Her sabbatical comes as a shock to most, but not to Phil. He's watched her crumble and slowly shut herself off. He’s watched as she’s turned case after case away, only taking history and physicals. The announcement she’s leaving to gather herself isn’t a shock to him. It doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

He escorts her out on her last day and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm always going to be here, if you need me." 

Melinda looks at him and her eyes are dull--no sparkle, no tease, no " _Keep up, Coulson.”_ She shakes her head. "I'm not sure I'm coming back to SHIELD. I-I can't, Phil." 

He shrugs, smile soft, hand on her hip--a simple grounding weight. "Then don't come back to SHIELD. Come back to me."

Melinda shakes her head softly, his words bouncing off the wall she’s already erected around her heart. Phil watches her disappear through the sliding doors of the trauma center and promises himself this won’t be the last time he sees Melinda May.

* * *

 

A few months later, Melinda decides that no matter the ache in her heart, medicine is her calling.  _Helping_  people is her calling. She rushes through a four-week course in medical transcription and coding and transitions to an administrative position. It’s far away from patient care (she can't trust herself anymore), but she consoles herself that she’s still doing something to help. 

The pen that she holds every day is not quite a scalpel, but it’s something.

* * *

 

Phil knows she would never leave SHIELD, not really. When he receives a text from Melinda that tells him she’s coming back, that she’s up on the fourth floor in medical records, he grins, whoops and holds his phone to his chest. She’s coming back.

He takes every break, every nap, every lunch hour up in a dingy cubicle with flickering lights amidst a stack of medical files with a reticent Melinda May. Phil brings her up tray after tray of crappy cafeteria food, makes sure that she’s eating. On Friday’s he drags her from the fourth floor and takes her to Magoo’s. He throws french fries at her and every roll of her eyes makes him feel invincible.

Phil mostly talks  _at_  Melinda. Just discussions about the cases he's on--he keeps the details vague, knows it will upset May if she hears too much. But when he misses a lunch, May checks her watch, worried and her heart beats a little harder. Phil has never--not once--in the last few months missed a lunch with her. 

With a deep breath, she traverses the long hallway and elevator ride to the ER and there's a sense of  _something_  washing over her. The hustle and bustle and chaos of the emergency room makes her heart pound harder and she can practically feel the phantom weight of a scalpel fill her hand. 

She sees him, then, just as her heart is racing and the sweat forms at the small of her back. Phil is there in the middle of it all, crying baby on one hip and Daisy--one of their homeless teen regulars--on a gurney in front of him.

* * *

 

May can see Daisy has quite the nasty cut on her head and Phil can't manage the baby and the cut at the same time. She steps forward, simply takes her place at his side, and collects the needle and surgical thread from the tray. She snaps the latex gloves on and begins the sutures with the same quiet efficiency that she once employed in a surgical room.

Her hands move as if they are independent from the rest of her--following easy steps that she’s performed a hundred times. The push and pull of needle and thread. Daisy and Phil are bantering (Phil’s giving her a hard time: “Daise, you  _have_  to be careful out there. Don’t make me drag you home with me.”), but it fades into the background. 

Phil is an unexpected source of comfort, his warmth and voice and presence beside her grounding her, stopping her mind from wandering to a little girl in a surgical room.

She finishes the suture with a clean knot and bandages the wound. “All done.” There’s no smile for Daisy, not yet. She turns to Phil, eyebrow raised, ignoring his smug look and his eyes flickering from the sutures to Melinda. She barely restrains rolling her eyes. 

“Lunch, Phil?”

He grins, nods. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me five.”

Another curt nod and she’s turning on her heel and clenching her hand at her side, heart in her throat. A warm hand--Phil’s hand--wraps around her arm, tugs her back and he dips low, lips at her ear and voice husky.

“Welcome back, Lin.”


End file.
